Boxes boxes boxes

Today I took on the storage locker.

If you all remember, the contents of my life belong in this storage locker, my car, or a small closet at my parent's house. I've come to terms with it, don't worry about me or my sense of belonging...

Anyway I approached the fifteen by five foot locker with the idea that it was me against the world. Or at least a mountain of boxes and furniture. I opened the lock, pushed open the door and got to business.

My goal was to find my winter coat. I had a relatively good idea of where it was. In a wardrobe box, tucked in the very corner of the locker. I pulled out the chairs and the bike, climbed over a box of glasses, shimmied along the mattress, crawled on top of the dresser and finally located the wardrobe box.

It was there in the corner gleaming menacingly. Daring me to approach. It stands approximately five feet tall and has a bar running through the top of it so that clothes can hang while they've been in storage.

I removed the boxes of dishes and a tennis racket and leaned down to open the box, from my perch on the dresser. The bar was full of clothes and as i pushed them out of the way, I saw the holy grail. My jacket was folded neatly at the very bottom of the box. At this point, however the bottom of the box is five feet below my post.

I bent down and reached into the box only to come about two feet short. Trying again, this time I tucked my head under the bar, and reached a little further, straining to find the bottom of the box. My arm stretched and the fabric of the coat teased my fingers.

I stretched again, this time reaching the coat, and then in a flash, my feet slipped and I went headfirst into the box.

Yes. There I was. Stuck headfirst in a wardrobe box. I can imagine anyone watching would see just a pair of legging bedecked legs and a pair of boots sticking out of a box. This thought made me laugh even harder at my current situation.

Luckily the box wasn't meant to hold up a 140 lb 5'11'' frame, and there was a shelf there to catch me.

And I found my coat.

What a day....what a day....

how about now?

That rebel moon is shining, Those stars burn like diamonds, Hell bent on chasing down, that crazy spark...

There's something soothing and wholesome about nursing a cup of coffee. I ask for it super hot so that I can sit and just hold it for awhile. It's finally at the point where my fingers can wrap around it and actually stay without the thermoreceptor nerves in my fingers sending screaming messages of pain to my brain.

I've been in Kansas City for five days now. Five days and I have still yet to figure out my life. But I wasn't expecting answers. Maybe just some peace.

In Texas I'm wild. Like a horse yet to be tamed. I'm free to come and go as I please. I don't have to answer to anyone, I get to do what I want. No fences, no one to rely on, just me.

In Kansas City you would expect it to be the same, but there is something different. Maybe it's the urban setting, maybe it's the people. But the longer I'm here the more I feel the whisper of domestication.

This wild filly has found herself a horse whisperer. The whisper gets stronger and yet I still see myself sitting on the fence. Getting only close enough to enjoy the comfort of presence, but not close enough to get roped and caught. Far enough to be able to turn and run at a moments notice.

I guess I just have to decide when that moments notice will be...

I ain't here to do anything halfway, Dont give a damn What anyone might say. I just want to freefall for a while...

Texico

Your fingertips across my skin, The palm trees swaying in the wind, images, you sang me spanish lullabies, The sweetest sadness in your eyes clever trick

I'm back in a world that measures its success by the percentage one has earned on a test, and the school they have been accepted to. I'm fifteen hours north of my new home, in a land where the leaves change and ice coats the ground in the brisk mornings, and I'm not sure I belong.

My life for the last summer has been one where I've translated everything into spanish and measured success by happiness and relationships rather than grade point average.

I'm back to not thinking about borders or even breakfast tacos for that matter.

I play life by ear. I like it that way, and yet it's hard to explain to people here the fact that I don't really have a job or that I live in a church. Or that I'm not using any science. Or that I like it that way.

I always knew my life would center around other people. I was raised, being taught to put others first and to reach out to those who are marginalized. For the longest time it was going to be through medicine, and then my heart tugged, adventure called and I realized I couldn't plant my feet in one place for that long. Or give up the relationship side of helping others just to learn science terms and prescriptions. So I ran to Texas to see what this whole other side of life was like. The social service side if you will. It's tiring, it's demanding, even exhausting, and yet this is what trills me. This is what makes me roll out of bed in the morning.

One day, maybe I'll decide to go back to science. Maybe I'll find the perfect job that combines my two loves. And my hatred of settling. But until then, i'll wake up, but on my boots, and keep on keeping on.


Goodbye my almost lover, Goodbye my hopeless dream, I'm trying not to think about you, Can't you just let me be?

one ring to rule them all

hey i'm a wildflower. growing in the sunshine, soaking up the way of life i was raised in, running barefoot blooming in a summer shower, ponytail dancing, i cant help it...i'm a wildflower.


Dear World,

Can you all please stop getting engaged? It's kind of making me sick.

Great. Thanks

-Kelsey

cucumbers and brine

I see the hunger burning in her eye; Any fool could see there's something wrong. You keep pretending not to care, But I will hear you sing a different song...


I've gotten myself into a pickle. In more ways than one.

I've thought it over, talked it over, slept on it multiple times, even prayed about it, and I'm still in a pickle. Usually answers just fall in my lap. Usually I don't have to chose one path or the other. Usually there is only one option.

For someone who is accustomed to freedom and independence, it seems kind of silly that I can't make up my mind as to which direction to go. Playing life by ear is easy to do when there is only one story to listen to.

So instead I wait. I'm going to wait, wait for the wind to blow and awaken my gypsy spirit. Or maybe I'll wait here in Eagle Pass. Or maybe I'll wait back home. Or maybe I'll wait in Colorado.

Either way. I'm waiting for answers. A way out of the pickle. Preferably one without the brine and extra dil.

You're not in Kansas anymore....

This is the sound of one voice, One spirit, one voice, The sound of one who makes a choice, This is the sound of one voice...

The minute she opens the door and ushers me in, she begins to apologize for the mess and disorder. The deer heads on the wall have a dull, half paying attention look taxidermied onto their face and the cabinets have no doors. The door has been cracked open all day, even though they haven't been home, so that the dog, Chiquita, can come and go.

Instantly I am at home. The arm chair sucks me in and cradles me close, threatening to swallow me whole. The wine numbs my soul.

This is Eagle Pass. This is the home of someone who has never left town. Always Eagle Pass. Always home.

The home that is full of corruption and politics. Drugs and murder, and yet at the same time, houses those who have hearts longer than the Rio Grande and more open than the Chihuahuan desert.

The rumor around these parts these days is that I'm running for Mayor. I laugh it off, but know in the back of my head that the connections I've made here are very powerful. In my phone are the numbers of County Commissioners, Ex-Mayors, and a Judge or two. And we know each other on a first name basis. There is no way I would win. Because I'm white. And a woman. But the fact that these men know who I am means I can push my own agenda. One that isn't corrupt or political in the least. One that fights for those who cannot fight for themselves. One that would flip this town upside down.

Maybe that's why I was sent down to Eagle Pass.

Maybe that is why this place feels more and more like home.



This is the sound of all of us, Singing with love and the will to trust, Leave the rest behind it will turn to dust, This is the sound of all of us

Last night, I had a dream, about a place I'd never been, Shinin' sun on fields of gold, could be heaven for all I know, I close my eyes and then go back again


I'm house sitting this week. I've set up camp at the Dinning room table. I take up space in the fridge. I leave my shoes in the hallways, and I sleep in the big guest bed with a huge hairy chow named Bea.

Sleeping has been rough this last week. I've been waking up in sweats from the nightmares. Walking a thousand miles without ever leaving the bed, and having dreams that mash memories and fantasies.

Last night I dreamed I was walking back to Kansas City. I had only my shoes on my feet, the clothes on my back, and a backpack with a textbook that needed to be returned. I met many people on my journey. Brad Pitt helped me climb down a mountain (because we all know that there are mountains between me and home). Octamom had me carry two of her kids for a couple of miles. And I ran into an old long lost friend who walked a mile with me and discussed the adventures we had in Spain. Then I woke up and found Bea circling the bed trying to get comfortable before tucking her large nose under my armpit, and stretching the length of my body.

I close my eyes again and am transported to a table in the middle of a Plaza. Portuguese swirls, the ice in the sangria tinkles and at the table with me is a lobster, lost and unable to get home. I tell him to take the 10:15 to Cascais. This time I wake to the creaking of the fan. Bea is long gone. I save the comforter and close my eyes again.

This time I'm sent to an old well-loved blanket in an open field of waving grass. The blanket is backed against a tall mesquite tree, one that I have seen many times before on the side of a well traveled road. The tree stretches his branches over the blanket and keeps a lonely watch over the field. I sit on the blanket, waiting. I'm not sure for what, I just know it or they aren't there yet. And that whoever is coming will be there soon. Just as my eyes are opening I see him crest the hill, the golden sunshine reflected in his face and hair. My smile widens and he quickens his pace. He wraps he in his arms and leans his head back to laugh as he spins me off my feet. He puts me down and leans in, just in time for me to open my eyes to see a large dog staring curiously, inches from my face.


On the wind, I feel the warmth, like the town where I was born, Blowin' down a two lane road, it rides just like the one back home, I close my eyes and then go back again